More than a Story
by wholocked12
Summary: The only consulting detective in the world no longer exists to most after one day. That was the day Sherlock jumped to his presumed death. The only person in the world who knows he's alive is Molly Hooper. To the rest, his life was no more than a story. A fairytale.
1. Prologue: The Missing Detective

**A/N: Hello everyone! How's it going? Here is a new story that just floated into my mind earlier today. Bear with me in the prologue down below, because I know right now it doesn't make much sense, but all I'm really going to tell right now is that it takes place after all our feels were broken. (A.K.A TRF) Anyway I hope you enjoy and try not to be too hard on me yet. It will make sense later!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, sadly. This Sherlock belongs to the great duo of Moffat and Gatiss.**

* * *

Time feels like it stands still as Molly rolls away the last body of the day. The morgue is hollow. There is no consulting detective peering over her shoulder into a person and telling her how they died. There is no blogger rolling his eyes in the corner and stifling a laugh at his flatmate.

Now there is a blogger who doesn't blog and sits in his chair at home with not even the slightest sparkle of a laugh in his eyes. And mostly for Molly Hooper, there is no more consulting detective watching her every move with the scalpel and she has to pretend there never was.

Because to everyone else there isn't.

John Watson came back from the war and sits alone wallowing in the times of battle.

Mrs. Hudson sits alone, waiting and hoping to be called upstairs to make a cup of tea for someone. But there's no one home.

Greg Lestrade has crimes lining up for miles, because no one seems to know what happened.

Jim Moriarty wanders the streets under a different name believing he has won the fight.

And Molly Hooper, she remembers. Everything. From the first time she met him to the moment she said goodbye.

She has no idea why no one remembers him or even knew he was alive and well a few days ago.

The only thing she knows is that she has to find him somehow and bring him home, because maybe, just maybe if they saw him they would remember.

Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, didn't exist to anyone but Molly Hooper and she is determined to find him because she knows she isn't wrong. He is somewhere and she will bring him back.

* * *

**So there it is! I would love to hear what you guys think! I'm pretty sure I will get a lot of comments that say 'I was confused'. I will be away for the week so the next chapter will not be up for awhile for an explanation... Sorry!**


	2. Chapter 1: Lost Memories

**A/N: Sup y'all? Sorry I've always wanted to say that in an author's note! Hehe! So anyway moving on from that slight outburst I want to thank everyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited this story. It is extremely appreciated! This chapter still may be a bit confusing, but the next one will hopefully sort out some of your questions!**

**Disclaimer: Once again I sadly do not own Sherlock. *cries***

* * *

Molly remembers his last words to her once he left her flat after the day he faked his death.

"Molly Hooper, this is not my specialty, but I am going to attempt to thank you for your service to me. So, thank you for helping me fake my death. It is greatly appreciated."

Though it was a very unemotional thanks, it made her heart crumple at the thought of being thanked by him. Without giving it a second thought she ran up to him, threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a light kiss on his cheek. She felt his arms wrap around her waist as she let her head fall to his shoulder and inhaled his scent.

He kissed her cheek in the same fashion that she had done to him and murmured one word in her ear, "remember."

With that he pulled away from her grasp and whisked out of her flat in a disguise.

OoOoOoOoOoO

She hadn't thought anything of the word at that point, just that he wanted her to remember that moment.

Now she knew that he actually meant for her to remember him because no one else would.

He knew he would disappear without a trace.

Wiped from everyone's memories except for hers.

He had done something to her, but the question was what?

OoOoOoOoOoO

Today, Molly goes to her newly empty morgue as usual. The only thing is that when she got there, she has an unexpected visitor leaning against the wall to the locked morgue.

John Watson leans against the wall, sipping a take-out cup of coffee. He has purple bags under his eyes and grey hairs sprouting at his temples. John is also extremely thin, almost to the point of seeing every bone in his body.

The frail man looks up as Molly walks nervously up to his side to unlock the door.

"'Lo, Molly," he says in a hoarse, raspy voice.

He smells of cigarettes and alcohol.

"Hi John. How are you?" she asks in a falsely cheery tone as she swings open the door to the morgue.

"Lovely," he replies and follows her into the morgue, which makes her stifle a chuckle.

That was the one thing about John Watson that she loved. Even though she knew he felt absolutely dreadful, he would never tell her that.

"Might I ask what you need today?" She questions as she puts on her lab coat.

"Company," he sighs heavily and sits down in Molly's desk chair while propping his cane up on he desk beside him with a groan. His leg has gone back to hurting him.

"I don't know if I'll be any help, but I'll try," she says once again in a faked happy tone.

"Good enough for me," he mumbles.

He then turns to look at her picture board that sat behind her computer. Molly winces as she sees him look straight at a Christmas picture that has Sherlock in it.

His already sad eyes fill with tears that he doesn't know he has as he asks her, "I don't remember that man. Who was he? A boyfriend of yours?"

His question makes her want to sob, but she answers with a calm voice like she normally does. It is the same answer she gives him every time he asks when a rare picture of Sherlock appears. "A friend that you knew a long time ago named Sherlock Holmes. The one and only consulting detective in the world. He made up the job."

"Sherlock," he mumbles as a tear trickles down his weary face.

A slight hint of recognition splashes his face, but is quickly washed away. "Sounds like an interesting man. I wonder why I don't remember him."

"So do I," Molly says under her breath. "So do I."

* * *

**A/N: So there is the chapter! I will hopefully be posting the next one sometime this coming week. As always reviews are very welcome!**


	3. Chapter 2: Consulting the Government

**Hello again! Long time no see, or read... Never mind that though! Here is the next chapter, and guess what!? Hehe, not telling! I am a Moffat in training and we must not tell our secrets beforehand. **

**That was just weird... I'm having issues today...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. *tear drop slides down face***

* * *

It has been almost a year since Sherlock disappeared from sight and everyone's minds except for Molly's. She is fed up with not knowing whether to believe herself or her friends who are starting to doubt her sanity.

John had asked her just the other day why she had been bringing up the name Sherlock so much recently.

Mrs. Hudson had asked her over tea if this man named Sherlock was one of her ex-boyfriends that she was still trying to get over.

The only person she has yet to ask is Sherlock's brother Mycroft. She hasn't asked yet because, truth be told, she doesn't want to. He scares her a little.

She is losing hope.

Mycroft Holmes is her last option.

If he can't help her, no one can.

After her morgue is empty, she switches her lab coat with her purse on the back of the door, and leaves. She is the last person on her floor. Her watch reads 8:37.

She has met Mycroft only once before. It was Christmas and he and Sherlock were in to look at the body of a woman named Irene Adler.

Molly had looked him up on the Internet earlier that day to find his office location. It is on the other side of London from her flat and St. Bart's. The website also said that he worked until 9:30. She will have about half an hour to talk to him about the disappearance of his brother and hopefully come up with some answers.

OoOoOoOo

At 9:02, she pulls up in front a large white, formal building with officers standing outside. She parks and gets out of her small car. Molly pulls her jacket around herself more tightly as a shield from the brisk breeze and from the nerves building inside of her.

As she approaches the building, the two guards turn to face her. She jumps.

"What is your business here, ma'am?" the one on the right asks curtly.

"I'm here to see Mycroft Holmes," she says, faking confidence. It's not working very well.

"Name and relationship to him?" the other guard asks.

"Molly Hooper, family friend," she replies, her confident façade fading quickly as she hopes that that was his last question. Family friend is stretching the truth so far she can hear it begin to snap.

The guards turn away for a moment to consult each other. Her heart does a few flips in her chest. After a few seconds of hushed whispers, they turn back to her.

"Right this way, Miss Hooper," the guard on the right informs her as he opens the oak door and motions for her to enter. A tiny breath of relief passes her lips, too quietly for the men to hear.

He leads her up two flights of oak stairs that are the same color as the door. There are multiple paintings hung in precise positions and color arrangement on the tan walls. At the top of the steps, she is led to the last door on her right. A gold plaque above the door reads Mycroft Holmes in cursive letters.

The officer pushes a button next to the door that goes to a speaker that sits beside it.

He says loudly into it, "you have a visitor, sir."

"Bring them in," Mycroft's voice crackles back through the intercom.

The guard unlocks the door with a key that is on a ring with two others. He pushes the door open with one hand and ushers her in with the other. The officer closes the door behind her and Mycroft gestures to the seat in front of his desk without looking up from his paperwork to see who his visitor is. She shuffles over and sits lightly down in the small wooden chair. A few minutes later Mycroft's eyes meet Molly's and flash a look of surprise for a brief moment.

"Good evening, Miss Hooper," he greets her formally, the surprise gone as quickly as it came.

She gives him a tight smile before she says, "good evening, Mr. Holmes."

She says Holmes with a bit of a push to it that Mycroft does not notice.

"What is your business here, Miss Hooper?" he asks as he signs his name on a piece of paper.

"I need to ask you a few questions about your now nonexistent brother," she states as she wrings her hands, a nervous habit of hers. She's been trying to break herself of it, but with little success.

"Brother, what have you done?" he sighs into his hands that he has now placed over his face. For a long time, he remains silent. It seems to Molly like he's forgotten she is there.

"So, Sherlock Holmes is, or was, real?" she asks, as her heart pounds quickly, thudding in her chest so loudly she is sure he must hear it.

"Yes, he was and is very much real-"

She cuts him off, "then why do you and I remember him, but no one else?"

"We erased him from everyone's minds for safety purposes and for the ease of carrying out his plan. It was complicated to erase him, but we figured out a simple way to do it. I guess he choose you to remember him. Such a foolish man," he states as he runs his hands through his hair.

Remember.

_Remember._

That was the one word he had told her before he left.

It was a key in this. She could feel it.

"How did you erase him?" she asks, still immensely confused by the whole situation.

"Miss Hooper, you are a woman of science, if I am correct?" he asks as he now strums his fingers softly on his desk. It appears she is not the only one feeling a bit unsettled in this particular situation.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with our current conversation?" she questions.

"Only so that I now you will get the concept of the plan," he states. "Anyway, it has to do with satellites and electrical impulses. As Sherlock might have mentioned to you before, I have certain...connections. When Sherlock told me about his situation we came up with a plan for after he jumped from the roof of St. Bartholomew's hospital. I had an electrical impulse sent up into every satellite in the night sky. It would make every person on earth forget Sherlock Holmes ever existed. Sherlock and I were the only two who were supposed to be wearing the metal chips to deflect it. Apparently, he put one on you as well before he left and the impulse went out. He is now in Australia tracking down Moriarty's men under the name of Eric Antonio. That's how we wiped the name Sherlock Holmes from everyone's minds in this planet except for two, well now three," he finishes and leans back in his chair.

Molly squirms in her chair. She is still reeling from the overload of information. It was all so complicated that she couldn't get a grip of it for a few minutes. Once she figures it out, she realizes that she was finished with questions. She now has all she needed. Sherlock had planted a metal chip on her clothing when he told her to remember. There was an electrical impulse from every satellite effecting everyone's brains except for people with metal chips on them. He was in Australia.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. That's all I needed," she says as she rises to get up and leave.

As her hand wraps around the door handle a small voice stops her, "Mycroft, please."

"Thank you, Mycroft," she whispers in return as she turns the handle.

OoOoOo

When she returns home, she throws everything down and opens her laptop at the kitchen table.

She types clumsily into her search box: _plane tickets to Austraila from England._

She is going to find him, because now she realizes she does have one more question.

A question for Sherlock Holmes.

_Why me?_

* * *

**So there it is! I would like to hear what you guys think of my explanation, what you think will happen next, why Sherlock chose Molly, and most of all if you liked it! I know the explanation probably couldn't happen and was a bit unbelievable but bear with me on this. Anywho, I will post the next chapter as soon as I get it done which will most likely be sometime early next week!**


	4. Chapter 3: Finding what is Missing

**Hi everyone! I'm back again with a new chapter! Sorry it took awhile, life got in the way. Anyway here it is! Hope the chapter title gave you all a bit of incentive to read... Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I once again do not own Sherlock. *draws sad face on wall and shoots it***

* * *

One week later Molly is in a cab to the airport for her long flight to Australia. She has two suitcases full of clothes and other necessities. Molly also has a backpack for the plane. Her cat, Toby, is staying with Mrs. Hudson since she really doesn't know when she'll be back.

As the cab pulls up to the airport entrance it is around 5:30 in the morning. She pays the cabbie once he gets her bag out of the trunk.

"I hope you have a nice flight ma'am," he says perkily as he slides back into his car and leaves Molly surrounded by a cloud of exhaust.

"So do I," she whispers as she puts the backpack on and begins to drag her heavy bags into the airport.

OoOo

After an hour and a half of passing security, Molly collapses into a hard plastic chair. Her feet ache and her eyelids feel like lead. She can smell the coffee and pastries from the bakery down a few stores and feels her stomach growl. Molly lets it rumble once more before getting out her wallet to go buy a bit of breakfast. She shuffles over to the store and waits in line behind an older man and his wife. How she wishes that someday she would have that life. Someone to grow old with, a few children, and a house instead of a flat. She is brought roughly out of her daydreaming by an angry teenage girl slumped on the counter asking her for her order.

"Oh, sorry," she mumbles. "I'll take a small cafe au lait and a raspberry bagel."

"Cream cheese?" the teenager asks the question like the condiment had insulted her as she pounds the items into her cash register.

"No, thank you," she says as the girl hands her a receipt and a pen.

The teen turns to a coffee maker and says, "your order will be out in a minute."

While waiting for her order, Molly watches people bustling back and forth, little children crying, people sleeping, and people munching a quick breakfast before their flight.

"Small cafe au lait and a raspberry bagel," the girl shouts while holding up a takeout cup and a little, white paper sack.

"Thanks," Molly sighs, taking the warm liquid and bag from the teen and walks slowly back to her seat where she left her backpack.

She sits heavily down in the chair and sets her drink on a small side table next to her. In the time it took her to get her food, a large family has made itself comfortable in the chairs next to and across from her. The parents, who sit next to each other, look to be in their early forties and all of the children are no older than ten. There are seven children in all, four girls and three boys. Half of the girls are blondes like their mother, the other half dark brunettes like their father. Two of the boys have a head of light brown hair, and the other boy has rich, black hair. Hair like Sherlock's. A messy mop of dark curls. She feels a blush coming to her cheeks as she takes a sip of her coffee. It makes her roll her eyes at herself. Just the sight of black hair makes her want to see him again. Know he's real. Before she can get caught up thinking about Sherlock, her plane starts to board. Her row is called and she gets up, slinging her bag over her shoulder and picking up her garbage, which she throws in a bin on her way into the plane.

Since she booked her ticket late, her seat is in the last row in the plane. It's a window seat which she is pleased about, but that's the only thing about it that she is pleased about. Next to her sits an overweight, middle-aged man who promptly falls into a deep sleep with endless snores that could've moved the plane themselves. Next to him is a young woman with allergies. She coughs and finds it necessary to clear her sinuses every five seconds. It is a about a twenty one hour flight from London to Sydney, and she has a feeling it's going to feel even longer than that. After about half an hour of sitting, the captain finally announces that they will be taking off in five minutes, so everyone needs to shut down their electronic devices. Molly obeys and shuts down her phone and laptop.

Five minutes later, the captain is back on the intercom. Once he is off, she can feel the plane begin to move to the take off pad. The plane's nose starts to push through the air, breaking it apart until it is in the sky. Molly looks out the window and watches as London begins to fade. She can't help but feel a twinge of sadness as the city quickly is gone from view. Molly grew up in London and has never gone anywhere as far as Australia.

"Goodbye," she murmurs while sleep takes over her weary body.

OoOo

Molly wakes up four hours later from a massive snore produced by the man next to her. She decides to get out her laptop and look something up.

She types into the search box: Eric Antonio

There are millions of results that pop up and she knows instantly she won't find him. She never expected too anyway. As she scrolls through the results, though, one image catches her eye. A man with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes. She would know that face from anywhere. That was Sherlock. Molly knows it. It reads his current residence is in Sydney, Australia. She is beyond pleased. It means she is on his trail and, hopefully, that she will find him.

OoOo

A long twenty one hours later, she is walking stiffly off the plane with the other passengers. Her back is killing her, but other than that she is thrilled to be off the plane and in Sydney. She has her bag slung over one shoulder as she passes through security and customs before she finds herself in baggage claim. It takes her about ten minutes to find her two brown suitcases going around the belt. She just manages to grab them off before they take another lap with the other luggage.

When she gets outside the airport, she inhales a breath of fresh air before she drags her bags to the bus that will take her to the hotel where she booked a week in one of the rooms. The bus is very nice, with plush seats and air conditioning since in February it could easily get up to ninety degrees Fahrenheit, though when she left London it was fifty degrees.

It takes only about four minutes minutes before everyone unloads at the hotel. Molly decided to enjoy herself while she stays in Australia, so she stays in the Blue Sydney Taj Hotel. It is blue themed which she likes as she takes her bags into the lobby.

Once she gets her room key and takes the elevator to the third floor she only realizes then what room number reminds her of. It is number 221. She ignores it and slides the plastic key into the slot and pushes open the heavy door with one hand. She sets her bags in the closet and then decides if she is going to find Sherlock, she had better get an early start. Molly flops down on the queen size bed with her laptop goes back to the website she was on before. After looking at it for about twenty minutes she decides to ask somebody how to find a resident. She goes back down to the lobby and waits in line to talk to someone behind the desk.

"Hello, Miss, how can I help you?" a man about her age asks in a perky voice.

"Well I was wondering if you could tell me how I could go about finding someone," she stumbles over her words as she speaks.

"You can find people on Twitter, Facebook, MySpace, or any other social media website. Sorry I'm not much help," he replies with an apologetic smile.

"That's okay. You've actually just given me an idea," Molly says, more to herself than to the man behind the counter.

Molly practically sprints back up to her room and back to the website where she found him first.

Oaks Goldsbourough Apartments Sydney, Australia.

Only eleven minutes from her hotel.

She has found him.

She has finally found him.

OoOo

Fifteen minutes later she is standing in front of his apartment building. She rushes into the large building and up to the front desk.

"Can I please have the room number of Sher- I mean Eric Antonio?" Molly asks quickly, silently berating herself for the near slip-up.

The woman looks suspicious before looking in a book and muttering, "172, second floor."

"Thank you so much," Molly replies before bolting for the elevator.

She is antsy when inside, but manages to compose herself before steps out and makes the long trek down the hall. A gold panel on the black door reads 172 in cursive letters. Molly brings a clenched fist up to the door and knocks as she wonders if what she is doing is right. After a few seconds the blue eyes meet her own and show a look of surprise.

"Hello, Sherlock," Molly says keeping her voice relaxed.

For once in his life, the consulting detective lets his jaw drop.

* * *

**So here we are again, another end of a chapter. A bit of a cliffy for you to think about over weekend though. Have a nice weekend, review, and see you next week! (Hopefully!)**


	5. Chapter 4: The Mystery Man

**Hi everyone! I'm back. So the reason I am late with this chapter is that it took a little extra brain power on my part to get it where I wanted it. I also had a case of the ferocious plot bunnies invading my mind. Anyway, here is the next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I once again do not own these phenomenal characters. Well then, now that that is taken care of, on to the story! **

* * *

Sherlock's eyes narrow as he picks his jaw up off of the floor. "Come in, Molly."

She doesn't say a word, but silently follows the consulting detective into his flat. It is roomy and themed with the colors orange and gold. There is a small patio facing the harbor that catches her eye first out of everything else.

Sherlock gestures for her to sit on a grey leather couch and then asks, "tea?"

"No, thanks," she replies and sits on the edge of the couch, too nervous and uncomfortable to lean back.

He sits in a matching chair across from her and stares at her. She knows that is what he does to find things out about people, but nevertheless it still makes her want to squirm.  
Today Molly really isn't in the mood for his deductions on her person.

After a moment his mouth opens and words start to pour out. "Lost five pounds, not a good night sleep to speak of recently, extremely worried about something, give me a moment and I'm sure it'll come to m-"

Molly cuts him off in the middle of his deductions by standing up and pacing the length of the room behind the chair he is sitting in. She doesn't want him to say what she is worried about because think it poor of her to express such sentiment in the circumstances. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly in apparent understanding.

"Me," he murmurs. "You were worried about me. Why?"

She pauses for a moment before coming back around and taking a seat on the couch again. Molly nods slowly.

"Besides your brother, I was the only one who remembered you. People were telling me I was delusional, but I was positive I was right. Don't you think that would cause someone to worry? I was starting to believe them, so I talked to your brother who told me you were in Australia. Now here I am," she states as she stares down at her feet, which seem to have become limp noodles.

The only thing that he can think of to say is, "I am sorry that it turned out like that."

She can still feel his eagle eyes burning into her head. Molly feels tears welling up in her eyes, but she refuses to let them go. For some reason, instead of rejoicing in his apology, it made her blood boil and her eyes wet. Why had she even come? To prove a point to herself? That it wasn't impossible to find someone who wasn't real? No. She knows the real reason. Despite what she says to herself, her feelings toward him will forever be more than friendship.

She decides to ask the question that brought her so far from home, "why me?"

He stays silent.

She knew this is how it would go.

Sherlock Holmes loves no one.

Especially not Molly Hooper.

Suddenly her feet can move again and they're taking her out the door. The only thing she can think to say to him is, "that's what I thought. Goodbye Eric Antonio."

She doesn't hear him call her back.

OoOo

Back at her hotel Molly lays on her bed with a bag of crisps, watching crap telly. Some dumb, mushy soap opera. During a commercial break, she gets up and looks out the big window that opens to look upon the pool where children laugh and swim, women tan, and men drink. She gets out her phone and takes a picture to put on Twitter.

She writes: _At the Blue Taj Hotel in Sydney. Gorgeous._

Molly tweets it and then flops back down on her bed as the show comes back from the break. She frowns as the first thing to come up says 'To be Continued'. With a wandering gaze, her eyes meet the pool again and then her suitcase. Molly forgets about Sherlock for once in a long time as a slight smile caresses her small features.

Twenty minutes later, Molly finds herself lying on a beach chair under an umbrella with a book and cool drink. She decided to wear the rose colored bikini she bought years ago without intention of ever actually wearing it. Unlike London, it's warm without a cloud in the sky. She feels light and free. Free of Sherlock's tight hold on her. Molly tries to once again push thoughts of their earlier encounter out of her head. As she tries to clear her head, she looks up to find man looking at her. She can feel herself blushing. No one ever looks at her. Molly decides that that it is the right time to take a swim as she puts her book down carefully on the chair and saunters over to the steps. She isn't especially gifted at flirting, but it feels good to have someone look at her. After she gets used to the cool liquid for a moment, she dunks her head and pulls out her ponytail. Just as she leans back on the side of the pool, the man comes over by her. He has chestnut colored hair and emerald green eyes. About five foot nine and looks to be right around her age.

"Hi, there," he says in a thick Australian accent and finishes it with a dashing smile.

"Hi," Molly replies, feeling the blush creep up her cheeks when she returns the smile.

"My name is Sebastian," he says, extending a tanned arm in greeting.

"Molly," she manages to eek out because her mouth is deceiving her mind. She extends her hand and shakes his. "Lovely to meet you."

"My pleasure," he whispers as he brings her delicate hand to his lips and presses them to the back of it.

She can't help but let out a small giggle which makes his eyes meet hers and he gives Molly a tiny smirk.

He joins her against the pool wall and gently puts his arm on the edge of the pool near her waist, which makes her have to hold back a slight shiver. The only man that she had ever been in a relationship that had put his arm around her was insane.

Starting a conversation, he begins, "so I see you're British."

"Oh, yes. I'm from London," she replies looking down at her feet through the clear water and watches as they distort, not feeling quite comfortable looking him in the eye. "And you?"

"I am a native to Sydney. I'm here for a business convention. Are you just here for vacation?" he asks as his arm slightly brushes the skin on her back, making goosebumps appear on her arms.

She has to ponder her answer for a moment before she knows what to say. "Yes, just a slight vacation."

"Well since you are here for 'just a slight vacation', Molly, I hope you will agree to accompany me for dinner tonight at the Manta. It's only a few minutes away from our resort," he says and steps in front of her, bringing her chin up to look at him with his long fingers.

Without giving it a second thought she answers firmly with, "I would love to. What time would you like to meet?"

"Oh, seven in the main lobby? Formal dress would be quite appropriate," he replies, lowering his hand back down to his side.

"Seven then," she states with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

They continue to talk for another half hour before parting ways. Molly practically skips up to her room with a new lightness swelling inside her heart. Once she is in her room, she furiously digs around in her suitcase and comes up with two fancy outfits. If she asks herself, she really doesn't know why they are in her bag. She didn't expect to wear them, she was just here to find Sherlock, not to go on any formal excursions.

Pushing the questioning thoughts from her mind, she lays the two outfits that she finds out on her bed. One is a yellow, red, and orange sundress that is shorter in the front and trails almost to her heels in the back. It is made of a silky material and strapless. The second one is mainly a royal blue color that hangs rather tightly to her knees. There is small ruffles on the skirt of a dark purple and it is also strapless. She can't decide between the two, so she gets out the only pair of heels that she thought to bring and they were a dark purple. Purple and yellow wouldn't do, so the blue dress it was. The heels were about four inches which sparked a bit of pride in her since her normal shoes had no heel. She decides to tweet about her dinner date and pulls out her phone bringing up Twitter.

She types:_ Out to dinner with my mystery man at the Manta!_

Even though it is only four in the afternoon and they are meeting at seven, she can't help but go take a shower so she can start to get ready. Molly has absolutely no idea what she wants to do with her hair, but she does know she doesn't want it in her normal ponytail that she wears almost every day. As she gets into the shower, Sherlock floats into her mind and no matter how hard she tries she can't get him out this time. She remembers Christmas, when she asked him out to coffee and he replied with his order, when he said that she counted, when he kissed her cheek before he disappeared, and when he whispered to her the one word; _remember_. Molly doesn't realize she is crying until she hears herself begin to hiccup, which makes her give into a full fledged sob. She just wants her life to go back to the way it was. Molly feels as though she is in a small dark room full of memories of Sherlock, though she can still feel the hot water pounding down on her skin and she can still see the yellow light shining above her head. She tries to take a deep breath and calm her distraught body as she turns the water off. How did her mind wander from her upcoming date with Sebastian to everything she had been through with Sherlock over the years?

Because no matter what she tells herself, she still loves Sherlock.

She can't though.

She is supposed to have feelings for Sebastian.

Molly dries her hair off with a towel quickly before she uses the worthless hair dryer the hotel provided to try and make a dent in her mass of wet hair. After about ten minutes it is almost completely dry, so she wraps a towel around her body and walks back into her room. Instead of changing into her dress, though, she puts on a pair of athletic shorts and a large, short sleeve shirt that she had gotten at some school reunion that she had attended. Once she is dressed, she makes herself a cup of tea with the supplies provided by the hotel and gets out a book along with her reading glasses. She decides that she needs a break before she can go through the stress of getting ready for a date. After only a few pages in, she finds herself with heavy eyelids after a sip of tea. Molly puts her book down and sets a timer on her phone for five o'clock and closes her lead-like eyelids, giving into the relief of sleep.

_She is lying on a towel on a sandy beach with the sun shining down on her. As she looks around, she realizes that she feels a warmth on her hand. When she looks over, a man's hand is engulfing her own small one and he is lying beside her. After a closer look she can recognize the face and it frightens her a bit. Sherlock. The man holding her hand is none other than Sherlock Holmes. She feels her heart skip a beat as he sees that she is looking at him and flashes her one of his charming smiles. Molly feels herself returning the smile and squeezes his hand in return. Just as she is about to let happiness take over her entire being, she can tell someone else is present. Her head swivels around, searching for the other human. _

_When she looks to the side where Sherlock is not laying, a set of green eyes meet hers. It's Sebastian. Why was he in her dream? She looks at him quizzically and watches, stunned, as he lifts a revolver from his trouser pocket. He aims it at her first and a wicked smile plays along his features as he heightens his aim to just behind Molly and pulls the trigger. A scream emanates from her body she hears not just her yell, but another one. A man's. _

_Sherlock lies next to her with blood oozing out of a gun shoot wound on his shoulder. Their white towels were now red and her hands are red as she helplessly holds him and watches him fade from existence. As she rocks back and forth crying into his limp body, she suddenly feels a pang of pain surge through her body starting at a certain spot on her back. Molly feels herself scream once again as she falls forward realizing that she too has been shot. Warm, sticky blood runs down her back as she feels her vision turn black. The black deepens, before it turns into a blinding white. Then it's gone and she is floating._

Molly wakes up at the sound of her alarm and feels cold sweat flooding her body. She doesn't think about what she just saw as she calmly gets up and starts to change into her dress. Her hands are clammy and she feels nauseous as she goes into the bathroom to wrestle with her hair until it looks presentable. Pushing all thoughts of her dream out of her foggy brain, she fishtails her hair and wraps it into a bun with a mass of bobby pins. Her hands shake terribly with each movement. When she is done, she drowns it in hair spray. After that, she leans close to the mirror and applies light and dark blue eye shadow, pink blush, and to finish it she puts on peach colored lipstick. When she is finally happy with the state of her appearance, she goes and gets her shoes on. She smooths out her dress and walks out of her hotel room and over to the elevators. Even though it is only 6:30, she decides to go down so she can get a coffee at the cafe before the date. She doesn't want to sleep tonight in fear the dream may come back.

After she finishes her small coffee and has reapplied her lipstick in the bathroom, she walks back out into the lobby and finds Sebastian in one of the plush chairs. She approaches him slowly and cautiously, pushing images of guns out of her head.

"Sebastian," she greets with little tap on his shoulder to get his attention.

"Molly," he exclaims standing up and straightening his suit jacket. "You look absolutely lovely."

He was dressed in an expensive looking suit with his hair slicked back and a massive amount of cologne to accompany his look.

"Thank you. You look handsome as well," she says calmly and a bit coldly. She inwardly chides herself for not being as kind as she normally would have been when he had been so sincere with his remark.

"Shall we go?" he asks ushering her towards the revolving door.

There is a cabbie already waiting outside and Sebastian opens the door for her. She thanks him and slides in carefully. He gets in after her and orders the cab driver to the address of what she presumes to be the Manta. On the way to the restaurant, there is is only a bit of small talk the entire ride which, albeit, wasn't very long.

After they roll to a stop outside of the large dining place, Sebastian pays the cabbie and helps Molly out of the car.

"Thank you," she murmurs as she puts her two feet on the blacktop.

"You're quite welcome," he says in return, but doesn't let go of her hand. In fact he latches on tighter as they walk in to wait to be seated.

They don't wait as Molly thought though. Apparently Sebastian had called ahead for reservations so they got seated immediately by the sea edge. There is already a bottle of wine in a bin of ice sitting on the table with a brick of cheese and thin, salted crackers. Molly and Sebastian sit down at the table and while she is astounded at the accommodations, he seems quite familiar with it and begins to pour them both a glass of wine.

As they begin to drink and eat, neither of them notice the man sitting behind Molly at another table watching them with a bitter gaze.

* * *

**Ohhhhh! Who is this bitter man sitting behind Molly? Guess in the comments and tell me how I did with this chapter, because truth be told, I need a few kind words to get the next chapter going. Have a lovely life and I'll be back someday! (yeah, can't say when...) :)**


	6. Chapter 5: A Kiss from a Killer

**Hey guys! I'm back, but sadly not for long most likely. School starts up again tomorrow, so yeah. Not excited in the least. Enough about me though, on to the story! I hope you all like it.**

**Disclaimer: Not owning Sherlock is like going back to school...**

* * *

The evening goes smoothly as Sebastian tells Molly story after story about his life. It is actually a bit boring to listen to so Molly doesn't talk much, but lets herself drift away into her thoughts. She nods occasionally while he babbles on, but she just can't focus because her brain isn't there. It isn't even on the continent.

It's back in London with her friends and family.

Molly is homesick.

She reminisces about what life had been like before the memory loss. How quite and peaceful life had been for the most part.

God, she misses it.

Her thoughts are interrupted by voice of her companion trying to get her attention, "Molly?"

"Yes?" she splutters, looking him in the eye but immediately looking back down at her untouched fish dish. Molly wonders if he can tell that she wasn't listening to half of what he was saying.

"Don't you like your food?" he asks, a spark of concern dashing through his eyes as he gestures to her full plate. She sighs, thankful that he was too caught up in his tales to notice what she was doing.

"Oh, yes. It's very good. The best I've had in a long while," she lies through her teeth. The meal was actually quite atrocious. She hadn't been able to order because when the waiter came over, Sebastian ordered the same thing for the two of them. The one food Molly wouldn't touch was fish and that was just what he had ordered for the pair.

He flashes her a dazzling smile. "I just knew you would love it. It was the first thing I tried at this restaurant." His plate on the other hand was as white as his grin. "Dessert?" he asks, snapping his fingers for the man to come over and take his order.

Molly presses her lips together in a tight smile. The last thing she wants at this moment is dessert. All she wants to do is go back to her hotel room and read her book. But instead of answering with her true feelings, she says, "that would be lovely."

"Ah, yes. I would like to order one fudge mountain. It's large enough for us to share," he places his order to the waiter with a quick wink of an emerald eye in her general direction.

Molly's stomach churns at the thought.

"Will that be all, Mr. Moran?" The small blading man, who she assumes to be the waiter, asks in a feeble voice that shakes with every syllable.

"Yes, Harold, that will be all. Add it to my bill at the cash register. I'll pay it some other time," he says, ushering 'Harold' back to the kitchen with a wave of his nimble fingers that courses through his arms.

Once the waiter has excused himself to the kitchen, Sebastian leans forward and takes her hand in his. "Molly, my dear, you look troubled."

She laughs, a bit unsteadily and unsure. Lying once again she says, "troubled? Nothing is troubling me."

"Good," he whispers and presses his lips to the back of her hand for the second time that day. "Now where were we?"

OoOo

The man sitting behind Molly goes unnoticed for the entire night. He watches in disgust as they get up and Sebastian's arm snakes far too low around Molly's waist. Once they have exited the building, he gets up and follows them out. He watches as their taxi disappears down the dark road and knows exactly where its destination is.

He signals for a cab and waits until one pulls slowly up to the curb. Hopping in, he instructs the cabbie where to go before she can ask, "The Blue Sydney Taj Hotel."

"You got it, Mister," a woman's gravely voice replies from the front as her foot slams down on the accelerator.

Somehow, the man finds himself in her hotel room before the couple, and then her hears scuffling outside of the door from his post in an armchair in the blackened room.

OoOo

"Allow me to escort you up to take you up to your room, darling," he whispers with hot breath into her ear which sends shivers up her spine.

She didn't enjoy being called darling by this man on their first date, but it was his whisper that did it to her. Molly nods numbly.

He gets out of his side of the cab quickly so he can help her out. Sebastian opens her door delicately and holds out a hand for her to grab. Once she grabs it and is out, he doesn't let go of it again. His grip was that of a claw.

"Which floor, my dear," he asks when they approach the elevator.

"Two," she says slowly as he pushes the up button and they get inside.

When the door closes, they are alone. Sebastian pushes her slowly against the side wall of the elevator. He leans into her and Molly goes completely stone like as she realizes what he is about to do. Her heart stops beating and all of the oxygen is sucked out of her lungs. She doesn't want this. She really doesn't want this. Not right now and not from him.

"No, no. Not now," she says, her voice trembling slightly, to the lips quickly closing in on hers.

He presses his left index finger to his lips and uses his weight to force his mouth upon hers.

The kiss is rough and passionate from one end. Molly stands and does nothing, her hands glued to her sides. She thanks the heavens when the elevator dings and he pulls away gripping her hand once again. Molly shakes her head rapidly and stares blankly into his eyes. She runs from his grasp and down the hallway to her room. Her legs feel like jelly as she sprints and as she runs her ankle rolls, making her let out a cry of pain. When she finally makes it to her door, Molly fumbles with the key in her hands and twists it quickly, slamming the door behind her as she hears his footsteps thumping down the corridor.

She takes a deep breath and lets the tears roll down her face. Molly is absolutely disgusted. She had hoped that maybe he would be different than anyone else she had ever dated.

He wasn't.

She hears his heavy knocking on the door, but does nothing in response. All she can do is wait until she hears his footsteps drifting away from her door.

Molly slides down the wall until she is in a sitting position. She feels nauseous as she recaps dinner and the elevator in her mind. Molly runs into the bathroom and dry heaves over the toilet with the tears flowing harder down her cheeks, making her makeup run and splatter into the water. She doesn't vomit, but she feels strong hands take her hair behind her back. Molly can tell immediately that the hands do not belong to monster who goes by the name of Sebastian Moran. Yelping anyway, she jumps up and whips around to find a pair of blue-green eyes staring into hers.

Sherlock.

It was Sherlock.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got in," she says, holding his gaze and limping past him. straightening out her dress.

She decides she is going to just say that her dinner didn't agree with her if he asks what brought on the nausea. For some reason, she doesn't mind if he's there though. It actually feels a bit nice to know that he came looking for her. Molly sits down delicately on the edge of the bed and wipes off her cheeks with the back of her hands. When she opens her eyes, Sherlock is squatting in front of her with a look plastered across his face that she has never seen before, though it only takes a moment to realize what it is.

Concern.

"What did he do to you?" he whispers furiously, emotion mixed into his normally level-headed voice. Molly doesn't even think to ask how he knows about Sebastian.

"Nothing," she murmurs as she looks down at his fists that are clenched, making them the color of a bed sheet as the blood runs out.

"Molly," he says with a hint of a growl ebbing into his voice.

"I said it was nothing," Molly exclaims, jumping up from her position on the bed and striding over to stare out the window with her arms folded across her chest.

It wasn't his business what she did with herself or what anyone else did to her. Her gaze is drawn down to the pool where people are partying and drinking themselves to the ground. She lets out a sigh when she feels two hands on her shoulders spinning her around.

Sherlock's eyes have hardened from their normal color to a steely grey. "He kissed you didn't he." It is less of a question than it was a statement.

"And what business is that of yours?" she questions, attempting to sound brave, but she can feel her bottom lip quivering.

"Didn't he?" he yells, shaking her shoulders with each word that passes his lips.

She can feel her courage dissolving with every second that passes in the tense silence. Molly hangs her head and nods slowly.

"Is that all he did to you?" he asks with the same amount of ferociousness in his baritone voice.

Her limp body forces her head to nod once again as she stares down at her purple shoes and her now swelling ankle.

"Thank God," he mutters, his voice softening dramatically, pulling her towards him and awkwardly wrapping his arms around her back.

Her heart pounds at his touch, but all she can do is press her forehead into his warm chest.

OoOo

At about one in the morning, after Sherlock has wrapped her ankle and explained himself, he gets ready to leave her. He feels comfortable leaving her for the night. The detective says that he will be back at six the next morning to check on her.

As he opens the door, she asks him a question that has been bothering her since he figured out about Sebastian. "Why are you thankful that that is all he did to me?" She doesn't feel brave enough to say 'kiss'.

"Because Sebastian Moran was Jim Moriarty's right hand man. A specially trained killer."

* * *

**So... Yeah... Left you guys with a bit of a cliffy to think about. I forgot to thank you for all of your AMAZING reviews. I'm pretty sure I had a bit of a spazz. This chapter wouldn't be up if it weren't for my reviewers. **

**So, have a drink on me and wish me luck in school! (Unless you're under the legal drinking age, then have a chocolate milk.) Toodles!**


End file.
